


Thirty Seven

by hereforthewomen



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Death and grief are discussed, F/M, Henry is a concerned husband, Hurt/Comfort, Mary has feelings, Present Mary/Henry, Tom is a great big brother, aging is difficult, let us not forget, past Mary/Matthew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:48:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29175921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereforthewomen/pseuds/hereforthewomen
Summary: Matthew died at thirty six, frozen forever in Mary’s mind at that age. On the eve of her thirty seventh birthday, Mary visits his grave to wonder what he’d have made of things. A concerned Tom follows her, and a conversation about grief and moving on ensues.Set a few months after the film, since we know only Mary's birth year.
Relationships: Mary Crawley/Henry Talbot, Mary Crawley/Matthew Crawley, Tom Branson & Mary Crawley
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Thirty Seven

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by my own experiences of grief, after my Grandmother died I found myself finding it harder to imagine what she'd think of me and my decisions with each passing year. I've never lost a spouse, but I imagine this could happen there also. 
> 
> Everyone is different, but I hope this resonates with some of you too. 
> 
> I love Mary and Tom's friendship, it gets a fair amount of screen time but I'll always wish for more! This is a scene I think could have happened.

After dinner, on the eve of her thirty-seventh birthday, Mary eschews the comforts of the drawing-room to feign a headache and slip out of the house and wander down to the village, or more specifically to the graveyard. It is a place that she perhaps does not visit often enough, considering that two of the dearest people ever to grace her life rest there. But still. They both knew her and a distaste for publicly showing emotion, she thinks they’d understand.

As she wanders down, she sighs to herself. She knows she has not been pleasant to be around over the last few days. Restless and preoccupied, she knows she’s snapped at all and sundry, even Anna receiving a taste of her sharp tongue. To begin with, she’d been angry at all of them for not realising, angry at her family for prattling on about celebrating her birthday, having Mrs Patmore bake a cake, inviting dinner guests, all without realising the significance of her latest increase in age. After that, she'd simply been angry. Angry at her own unease, her inability to let her guard down long enough to discuss it with anyone.

She knows that Tom and Henry, in particular, have noticed that something is wrong, she hasn’t been blind to the concerned looks they’ve been exchanging behind her back, or the frustration she’s begun to see in Henry’s eyes every time she snaps at him without confessing what it is that’s bothering her.

She’s come close to confiding in him numerous times, but even after nearly three happy, if at times tumultuous, years of marriage to him, she finds it hard to discuss this particular subject.

She loves Henry. She loves him utterly and completely with a fervour that sometimes takes her breath away. It had taken her a while to admit it but she loves him just as much as she’d ever loved Matthew. To begin with she’d been slightly ashamed of this, wondering if this was somehow a betrayal of her late husband. However, with the help of her family, including no less a person as Edith, she’d come to realise that her shame was misplaced, that he wouldn’t want her to be sad, to spend her life pining for him. She’d also come to realise over the past year or so that the way she loves Henry is dramatically, inevitably, different from the way she’d loved Matthew.

So. Deep down, she knows that Matthew would be happy for her, pleased to see her remarried again, loved again, happy again.

But, and this is what draws her to his grave on the eve of her birthday, until recently some part of her mind had not recognised that one day she’d live beyond the span of his life, begin to age beyond him while he remains a youthful thirty-six forever in her memories.

While the Matthew in her mind remains her contemporary, her elder even, she’s been able to imagine how he’d react to each new development, what he’d think and what he’d say. Now that she is moving beyond him, in age and even perhaps in experience, she’s scared that she’ll no longer be able to do that, that the small part of him that remains will be lost to her.

She’s so deep in her melancholy thoughts, that she doesn’t hear Tom walk down the gravel path towards her, not until she hears his deep voice say her name, and feels him drape a coat over her shoulders, an act that makes her realise she’d neglected even to take a shawl with her upon her flight from the house.

“How did you know I’d be here?” she asks, quite certain that she’d made the others believe she’s simply resting in her room.

Tom frowns at her “Henry went up to check on you and was rather worried when he discovered you missing. He’s gone to check the estate office and even the stables, but I thought I’d find you here.”

She’s shocked, she didn’t think anyone else had made the connection “You did?”

He nods. “I did. It occurred to me this afternoon, while you were looking so stormy at the mention of a cake, that the problem might be connected to your birthday. It took me a while, but then I realised.”

“Go on,” she says, curious to see if he’s truly figured out what it is that has been bothering her.

“Matthew, was thirty-six when he died, wasn’t he?”

She nods, relief suddenly flooding through her that someone has been able to put the pieces together.

“He was.”

“And that’s why you’re upset, why you’ve been so cross with all of us.”

She moves to intervene, but he is too quick.

“No, don’t deny it, you’ve been practically glaring daggers at us every time we mention your birthday.”

She sighs. “I know I’ve been rather awful, I just… couldn’t bring myself to talk about this, not even to Henry.”

Here, Tom fixes her with a stern look “You’ve not been very fair to him, he loves you and hates seeing you unhappy. He never even met Matthew; you couldn’t possibly expect him to realise.”

“I know. I’ve been terribly unfair to him, and to you. Don’t think I haven’t seen the glances behind my back, I know you’ve both been worried.”

“We have. I convinced Henry to wait, I thought you’d be more likely to come around if he didn’t push you, but that was before I realised what was bothering you, I know you find it hard to speak of Matthew to him.”

She nods, it is true “I do. I’m not ashamed of loving him, and I don’t feel that I’ve betrayed Matthew, it isn’t that, truly.”

“But” says Tom, a quizzical look on his face

“But” she continues “he hasn’t been through this; he hasn’t lost someone he loved in this way. I worry he may not understand, may see it as me regretting us, what we have together.”

At this, Tom gives her a small smile, his face telling her that he does, in fact, see.

“I think he would understand. One thing he and Matthew have in common is that they both see through your façade, see the real you.”

She smiles, this is a familiar refrain “So you keep saying”.

“But do you think you could tell me? After losing darling Sybil, I may be able to understand.”

At this, she nods. He’s right, he’s the one person left in the family now her Grandmother has passed who has lived through something comparable, who may have had the same thoughts.

“Tomorrow, I turn thirty-seven. Tomorrow marks the day I outlive Matthew. I know it’s silly, he’s been dead six years, but it feels somehow like tomorrow is the day he finally leaves me.”

“And you’re scared, it feels like you’re losing him, all over again?”

She looks up at him in surprise “Yes, exactly. How could you know?”

“Because it was that way for me, no, not with my age, but every time Sybbie ages, or grows, or completes a new milestone I think of her, and every time it’s that little bit harder to imagine what she might have thought, what she might have said.”

Mary feels a hint of panic “If you’re trying to reassure me, you’re doing a rather poor job.”

He rolls his eyes “Don’t be so impatient, I’m not finished.”

She rolls her eyes back at him, as ever giving as good as she gets “Well, get on with it then!”

“What I came to realise, in time, is that yes, I may not be able to imagine what she’d say or do, how she’d react to every small thing. But” here he fixes her with a steady look “I also realised that it doesn’t matter, that she loved me and trusted me and that she’d trust me in this too, to know what’s best for me, for Sybbie.”

Here, he pauses, and his steady gaze takes on an edge of steel once more “and also that she’d trust me to _ask for help_ when I need it, to ask those who loved her and who love me.”

At this, Mary scoffs “I see your point, no need to lecture me. I’m talking to you now am I not?”

He smiles at her wryly “Yes, you are” and then under his breath, “becasue I tracked you down.”

She raises one arched eyebrow and shoots him a sharp glare “I heard that!”

He replies with one of his own “Good, you were meant to.” 

This exchange is far more reminiscent of the way they usually are together, and clearly recognising that they both grin.

For a moment, they are quiet and simply gaze out into the graveyard, at the place where both of their first loves rest. It is a companionable silence, an easy one born from long years of friendship and working together on the estate.

“Oh Tom, do you truly think they’d be happy for us, proud of us?”

Tom smiles at her, his expression warm “I do. Matthew would be so proud of what you’ve become.”

She looks down at her feet “I hope so. Henry makes me so happy, but sometimes I wonder what he’d make of it all.”

“Believe me, he’d be proud. After all, you and Edith haven’t quarreled in over a month, and if that isn’t a sign of...”

At this, she cuts him off, rolling her eyes so far back she feels they may disappear altogether “yes, yes, it’s a miracle, I know. Cease your teasing, I get quite enough of that from Henry.”

He smirks at her “I’m sure you do”. Slowly, his face grows more serious.

“Promise me one thing.”

“Yes?”

“Talk to him, tell him what you’ve just told me.” Here, he pauses “He’s a good man, and you’ve been worrying him, he deserves to know why.”

She drops her head before raising it to meet his gaze “I know, and I will. I think I’m ready”.

Prepared now to move past the seriousness surrounding them she adds “Besides, if we leave him looking for me much longer, he’ll tell Carson, and then we’ll really be in trouble.”

Tom smirks at her “True enough” he says, holding out his arm to her and gesturing with his other in the direction of the house “shall we.”

She sighs, takes one last look at Matthew’s grave, and thinks of the oh so alive husband waiting for her. “Let’s”

And with that, she begins to walk back up to the house with her brother in law, still somewhat sad about the passing of the years, but knowing now that she can face them, that she might not be able to see Matthew in the same way but that does not mean she’ll ever be alone.


End file.
